Harping on Strings
by Pterobat
Summary: Rodimus wants to atone for his poor record as commander, but a new discovery deep inside Cybertron has made that difficult.


**Harping on Strings**

"Hail to Primus Incarnate!"

Rodimus paused for a nanoklick, then shifted his weight on the Predacon, pinning him down more effectively. The restraint generator on his arm excreted two t-shaped metal pieces, and between them sprang a glowing pink band to restrain the rogue. With a final threatening shake he moved off him, a robot who was now bigger than he was, a slow black-and-yellow male that became an equally slothful giant organic pill bug. What had Retrax (that was the name in the internal database) been thinking, when his physical construction ensured that he would so easily get caught? The warehouse hadn't even contained valuables; he'd avoided the parts warehouse just down the street, though of course that was better-shielded.

The other squad members moved in, and as Retrax shouted the declaration again they all looked at Rodimus. One was smirking. It was easy enough to see what they were thinking, and Rodimus put a hand to his head, dreading another meeting with the lieutenant. Why couldn't these damn fanatics give him a reprieve? If they revered him so much they ought to see how much trouble they was causing him. Granted, they didn't know exactly what he was doing in the Peacekeeper Corps, but wasn't it easy enough to guess? Apparently not.

He transformed. With a hook they fastened to him a flatbed with a laser cage over the top, and gave Retrax a tranq. As the rookie it was only his due, though several of the others had vehicle modes already equipped with trailers or beds. He couldn't complain about that, though, and wryly he wondered if it satisfied some latent masochistic urge.

He had to ignore the odd shout or exclamation that appeared as they drove along the streets back to headquarters, the beasts riding atop their vehicular friends. It couldn't all be directed at him anyway. The newer generation just weren't used to warriors.

The distant sound of immense construction reached him, the planetary rebuilding crews hard at work. It had to happen to accommodate these smaller ones, and considering what they were doing it was going pretty fast, too. All the old things he knew would be gone. Though they could be visited eventually, they would be hidden and degrading, available through no official tours. Such was life.

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The Cybertron Peacekeeper Corps were a branch of an army except in name. Warrior Maximals involved in alien aid, and both factions in native aid. Even with the shadow of war still dark, Transformers couldn't stay at complete peace for very long.

Rodimus stopped outside headquarters and was unhitched, transformed, and helped pull Retrax out. The Predacon's optics came on. "Chosen One--"

"Save it. You could have injured a lot of civilians with your little act. You're just lucky you chose something remote or your skidplate would be hauled into the chambers." Criminals shouldn't be put into suspended animation like that, but it was a method Autobots would just have to accept.

"Oh but Sir, I was only intending to get your attention."

"My _attention_?" Just as he thought. "Did it ever occur to you to send a commnet message instead?"

"I knew that you would not listen. You Autobots are not believers in the New Morality movement. You see all Predacons as threats, all evil. But Transformers can choose."

"Hey, I _work _for a believer." Retrax was more correct, and probably he knew that. "Anyway, we're done here. Let's haul some scrap!"

After Retrax was placed in the holding cell, humming to himself behind the translucent blue wall, Rodimus was told that the lieutenant wanted to see him. He said, "Did she give any hint as to why?"

"I think you know why, Hot--er, Rodimus."

He swallowed; as an expression of fear he'd picked it up from humans. "Yeah."

"You, uh, you keep it together, okay? Not all of us don't think you deserve a chance."

"Thanks."

He had to wait until she returned. The lieutenant was no desk jockey, and when Rodimus entered her office, she bore a scar across the peak of her left wing. Likely it needed a minor trip to a CR Tank, but she wasn't one to let minor wounds take priority over doling out discipline.

"Rodimus." she said, her short, fanged snout somehow forming the words. He'd thought her monstrous at first, a feather-winged, bird-legged mess of purple, black, and lime green, and still wasn't quite used to the sight yet.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Do you understand the reason I've called you here?"

"I think I do. It's about my fan club, isn't it?"

She didn't miss a beat at his slangy description. "More accurately, it's about their impact on this organization. Retrax is not the first to have pulled a stunt like this, and if anything can be done to reduce criminal activity on Cybertron, it must be."

Something flared inside him. He was being given his walking papers, all because of some crazies who didn't know any better. Quickly he tried had to counter it by reasoning that working for the common good meant also sacrificing what you wanted even if that was redemption.

"However," she went on. "We are living in a new era, where we are not bound by centuries of barbaric ideology, so do not prejudge my intentions towards you as malevolent."

You're a Predacon, he thought, but it didn't even get close to his mouth. "No, Ma'am." There was no insolence in his tone.

"I am not yet intending to sacrifice one of my soldiers, for we do need Transformers to fight stronger crimes, and so far the Primusites have not posed too large a threat nor caused a major disruption at headquarters.

"I propose that you find a method to discourage these Primusites, something beyond merely bemoaning them in private after you meet one. Get out of your shell, as the humans once said, and tell them your nature and intentions. When you have a plan, inform me of it, and on the results will depend your future. I expect some clarification on this near the start of the solar cycle."

Which gave him only a short period, once you factored in rest time and what was left of the day. He couldn't expect the lieutenant to give him time off, and shouldn't even be desiring it. Yes. Okay. He was ready.

"Dismissed."

Rodimus saluted, then left her quarters.

Though he was on call for the rest of the day, it soon was clear that he couldn't stop thinking about her ultimatum, and tried to do as good a job as he was able. At the end he drove to his apartments to plan out a strategy, feeling old and tired, but he'd been prepared for those sensations from the beginning. No matter what your age, all this crushing newness would make anyone feel old. And it wasn't like he'd entered into this period the same Transformer as before. They all knew that, and their attempts to talk him out of it had made that clear.

It was the conversation with Springer that really stood out, because Springer, like always, had laid things down without hiding anything. They'd sat in in a hastily-erected structure, a short time before the downsizing equipment was ready, but the signs of change were already everywhere.

"I'm telling you, Rod, you don't have to do this."

"Yeah. I don't have to. But I want to." Their table was made of old debris. Rodimus had taken a drink from his energon canister. "Look, it doesn't matter what the general feeling is, what matters is what I feel."

"I know, Rod, I know. But have you really thought this out? The Maximals are an odd bunch: they say that they worship us, but they also seem to wish that we'd climb back up on our pedestals while they do the hard work below. Call me paranoid, but I think they're giving us all this stuff just to keep us out of the way. We're getting anything we want here, except they've said nothing about how we'd fit into the government. Even that Council of Elders is just going to be made up of first-generation Maximals."

Luxury dwellings were being constructed then, soon to be ready for upgraded Autobots to live out their last centuries peacefully and provided for. But there had been something darker there, and deciding it didn't matter wasn't going to be confused with a change in its meaning.

"And you're going to be in particular trouble. I don't know who they've been talking to, or maybe they've made up their minds themselves, but they don't like you, and probably for the same reasons you're joining the Corps. It's going to be real tough out there, because you've got the barrels of two different blasters pointing right at you."

"What's the matter? Don't think I can handle it?" Rodimus had smirked, adding more seriously. "I'm not the kid I was."

"Yeah. You're reminding me more and more of when you were Prime every day. That's why you changed your name, isn't it?"

"No. To remind me." But what Springer had said wasn't exactly a revelation. It hadn't been just size and insecurity he'd gained, but a more caustic, jaded sensibility that had correspondingly fled with the Matrix, only to return later.

"It's going to be another black mark." Springer had taken a drink. "As far as they're concerned, there was only one Prime in that era."

"Which is why I need to do this. I need to make up for what I've done."

"Come on, you were leader for less than two years. Anyone would've had trouble when they were just starting out, especially without training, and all you did was mope for a little bit and then get right back in there. I can think of a lot worse things you could have done."

"That doesn't change things. Real Autobots aren't just prey to their circumstances. They fight, and I didn't."

"Rodimus, look. If you're still believing in that 'Chosen One' stuff, don't. You saw it yourself: we just came off the mechanical line a few million years ago, nothing mystical about it. It was just a good story, that's all. And besides, if fate existed, what happened was meant to happen and there was nothing you could've done about it."

"I tell myself that. But then I start thinking, what if Prime coming back was a sign that I'd failed? Seems ridiculous, I know, and of course he'd have been better for the job no matter how much experience I had, but..."

"Well, maybe fate wanted to give you a break, and maybe it doesn't want you to be ungrateful, huh?"

"Springer, if I back off now, there'll be less of a chance to start over. Once this new society gets up and running, it's going to be harder for an Autobot to find a place that isn't in a Cybertronian retirement home. I'm going to slip in during the chaos."

"So I can't talk you out of it, huh? Maybe you haven't changed as much as we think."

Rodimus had laughed graciously. "Yeah."

"But you'll keep in touch, right?"

"Always. And if they don't want me, I'll be over there playing shuffleboard with the rest of you guys." His smile had been for real. No matter what happened, their little group would always be together. Arcee had passed up the chance to join Elita-1's team for that, and Autobot City had been theirs for years. Only death...

Rodimus opened the door to his apartment, pulling himself back into reality. That was then, this was now, and he had to come up with a way to appease the Primusites before they caused some real damage. He would start with showing exactly where he stood on the matter.

Getting into his personal part of the commnet, Rodimus began to prepare his speech, sending a message to the lieutenant, and to all of his friends. Likely now they were all in shutdown mode, and they'd see him on the visunet, but he had to do it.

The lieutenant, however, replied promptly, using Maximal script, as was the custom for most official documents. She only said that she approved this choice and wished him the best of luck, the second part seeming hollow to him. It would take a few days for his proposal to be reviewed and prepared, for it wasn't part of the news component. Meantime, all he could do was brood and wait.

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He took a dip in the cleaning tank and got a full tune-up for it, and had managed to get in at a good time, too, feeling just as nervous when he'd applied for membership in the Corps. When the signal came, he took no time to collect himself. "Hello. My name is Rodimus. Just Rodimus now, but several decades ago I used to be known as Rodimus Prime. Before that, and for a little while afterwards, my name was Hot Rod. It's not anymore, because I wanted to remind myself of how I'd failed in my duty to the Autobots. To that end I joined the Cybertronian Peacekeeper Corps as an on-planet cadet, in hopes of giving back something to the world I'd messed up in.

"But that was before this whole Primus business got started.

"I don't have any strong opinions either way. Whether we were created by an alien or a god what matters more is what we do with the Sparks we're given." He used the modern terminology for the life force, the better to get right to them. "Whatever answers are out there, I'm not the one who has them. I may have been part of a prophecy, but I'm no mythical hero or wise sage. There was only one Autobot who could qualify, and he's gone now. Even if I've had more brushes with the supernatural than the average Autobot, I didn't get anything out of them but a lot of grief.

"We're getting into a new way of life, having our own culture now, knowing other things besides war, other ways of living besides as soldiers. It's a damn sight better than what Autobots could get in the old days, so forget about me and live your own lives, believing in Primus or not. This new idea is going to go places, and I'm not going to try to stop that from happening, but I'm not going to lead you into that way, either. I'm not a leader, just someone trying to make up for a lost life. You do me and yourselves a disservice by acting like this, and sooner or later someone's going to get hurt when you're crying for my 'attention'. If you have to talk to me, do it personally, through the commnet, and leave the citizens out of this.

"Thank you." His internals sent out a signal indicating that the transmission was to be cut, and the Transformers in charge obliged. Like a human he let out a sigh of relief and allowed his tense shoulders to relax. Having already paid his fee in government energon chips, he was free to go.

The lieutenant was waiting for him outside the studio. She came in her beast mode, an organic Marconian Dog, a mass of feather-winged fur and muscle on four taloned feet, terminating in a lupine head and topped by silvery spines. Rodimus had no idea what that meant, even when she dipped her head as if in a salute.

"Trooper Rodimus. I have seen your presentation and wish to acknowledge it. Time will tell of its success, but at least on the surface it appears effective.

"Thank you. Ma'am."

"Rodimus!"

He smiled at them, though the absence of Kup and Blurr was still painful to see. Unlike his altered one, their bodies were perfect miniatures of their old forms, even though their vehicle modes were now too small to carry even the shortest Maximal.

Arcee spoke first. "We saw your speech."

Springer added, "That's the way to tell 'em, Rod."

"Ah, it was nothing."

"No. Hopefully this will get them to see you as a real person."

Good old Magnus. The lieutenant was still between them, looking from the lone Maximal to the Autobots before her. Her lip curled up from the long canines. "I will leave you to your friends, Trooper Rodimus. Let us hope that you can retain this title for several many more megacycles. In the meantime, you are to perform your duties as normal." She saluted with one claw and flew away.

Rodimus watched her go.

"You know she was sniping you." Springer glared in her direction. "Showing up in a fur coat like that."

"It's a Predacon thing. After the rumours I heard about her, I should be glad that she treats me this well."

"You know, if she's singling you out, you don't have to tolerate it."

"I know, Magnus. But she's not. I'm just another Maximal to her, not another one of those...barbarian antiques, is what I heard she calls us. And so far she's said nothing about my past, though she made it clear that mentalities like that weren't going to be tolerated." And yet he'd been selected to go with her, one of the harshest lieutenants in the Corps. She was giving him a second chance, but a third wasn't too likely. "Well, guys, today's my day off...want to go out for a while?"

They all left the station together. He wasn't feeling too confident, but had the urge to take himself out in public, which he'd been avoiding for a long time. He had to chose walking instead of driving, and to walk proud. If he had to sacrifice his place in the Corps for their collective peace, he would not feel disappointment. Not merely hide it, he would not feel disappointment. He'd have to learn to roll with the punches, even if fate meant to take his atonement away. Let them harass only himself in exile.

There were no restaurants as of yet, but they stopped to take canisters of energon at one of the makeshift stations, just like where he'd talked with Springer.

Arcee was interested in the organic enhancement process, and the exploration ships.

"They grew out of a need to find aliens for trading with, to help renew our resources. But now they're thinking of exploring. You know, just for its own sake. They'll use the organic beast modes for camouflage and to help them understand the world."

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? Seeking knowledge just for the pleasure of it, not just to gain an advantage in war." Magnus shifted in his chair. "It's amazing."

Springer leaned back, putting his arms behind his head. "No, what's amazing is that we think it's amazing. When you've done without it for so long, you don't realize how important it was."

Arcee chuckled. "Well, Springer, I never saw you as the artistic type."

"Yeah, well, some humans used to say that 'art' included everything that people could make, so I'm looking forward to some homegrown entertainment in a few decades."

Arcee looked at Rodimus. "Have they said anything about letting us go back to Earth yet?"

He shook his head, feeling that old sadness. "No one even asks, and it's not my place. I'm betting that it's not going to change anytime soon."

A pall fell around the table, and Rodimus felt that old anger that he'd had to repress to work with Maximals. The war had done great damage to Earth, but it was over; they would miss generations of their human friends, all the new changes to their second home. Were the Maximals so obsessed with change that they had to sever everything, even the ties that had help them end the war?

"Well, it's their world now," said Ultra Magnus. "We all learn to adjust. And you're doing a fine job of it."

"Thanks. It's the major reason why I don't want this to happen. I mean, I know I have to take things as they come, but I'd hate to just roll over and accept that I'm the Primusite's love object instead of whatever else I want to be."

Arcee: "You'll do it."

"Yeah. So, what more's new with you guys?"

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Several solar cycles later, K-9 asked him, "How long to you think it's going to be before The Claw lets you off the hook?"

Rodimus snapped on his r.g. "Don't know."

The big Maximal yawned. "I can guess why you do this, but sometimes I wonder if you like the pain. Some of us do hope that we'll have a few more megacycles to find out, you know."

"Yeah. That's good. I've got the same thing going. Every new piece of mail into my commnet account makes me think of another Transformer who isn't out disturbing the peace."

"You hope." He put his hands on his hips.

"What else?"

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Rodimus left the group quarters. Tonight he would do something that he'd been putting off for a while. The Elders had declared the Primus chamber to be under universal governmental control, so that no one could attempt to make profit off of it or close it off, and construction crews had been hired to make the route less treacherous. At the midst of the sleep cycle it was deserted.

The find had been pure accident, an amateur spelunker venturing the deepest one ever had into the denser parts of Old Cybertron, where only a human-sized Transformer could fit among the vast and crumbling remains of buildings, and only a newer model was able to remain there for megacycles if necessary, energon being more portable and these bodies able to use it better.

He'd seen the images, ordered them himself, but like with everything, seeing it was far different. It was his face, larger than that of the largest combiner, his head parts too, the shape of his "helmet", but the construction had an adult serenity that wasn't his yet. Rodimus felt a prickle of fear looking straight at it, partly expecting it to move.

The head was connected to packed rows and veins of pipes and circuits in white, magenta, yellow, and grey. Scans had showed that the connections terminated well before the areas that the original Autobots had been capable of getting into, and no one could understand what they were for. Most had interpreted it as a way for Primus to be constantly connected to the planet, understanding its rhythms, but without the desire to do any strong scientific probing, it would still be a mystery.

It _had_ to be the god, they'd said, the legend who had nearly been forgotten all those millions of years ago, the revered Covenants reduced to a superficial superstition, taken aboard for luck, never even brought up to refute the Quintesson origin. The discoverer and others claimed to feel peace and strength when entering the chamber, slowly filling every aspect of their being. So far he couldn't detect it, but Rodimus slowly walked deeper inside, the new illuminators throwing every detail into sharp relief.

"So you're Primus, huh? Hello there, 'Dad'. I guess it was time to finally come and see you up close." Rodimus turned away from the huge visage and sat down. "You know, when I was on Earth I never gave this religion thing much thought, and it's pretty hard to remember how they went on about it. I know that it was important but...oh, slag, maybe I'm just playing along with the Maximals, trying to forget everything and start over.

"I don't feel any attachment to the notion that Old Cybertron only had caves and monsters, or to being the descendent of rebellious household appliances. How obsessed they're getting with the idea that it might be otherwise is incredible; it's like they feel it's more flattering. Maybe they're just doing what they always do, trying to fill our empty culture with Earth's old one, mixing everything up.

"But you were around before this, so maybe it's not that. Maybe it's just that they're trying to forget even more of the war, so that they don't even have an origin story in common with us; your story is so old it wasn't considered official when I came online. I can understand that, but I can't like it. I don't want to feel done when I've got so much left to do, just because they want to forget. I'm happy that we no longer have to fight, but I'm still going to redeem myself someday."

Rodimus paused, shifted.

"I have to admit, sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone who could tell me whether or not I'd failed, if my actions could be justified, and if I was doing the right thing to redeem myself, that this will be enough. It's the only thing I can do, but that might not change anything.

"Hey." He turned up to look at the great face. "I've got an idea. Tell me your life story. Beam it down into my mind, so I can spend the rest of my life as a prophet for you."

Nothing happened. Of course. "I know. It's not what I want, either. I'm acting just the way I did before. But I guess if I really want this, I'm not going to be hanging around asking you to lead me by the hand. I hope you've got a good thing going here, big guy. I'll guess I'll see you later."

He left the chamber too fast, but did look back once.

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The next collection of solar cycles saw many more letters delivered to his part of the commnet, but no interference with his work. He could not read all of them, and why should he? He was not what they wanted him to be.

_Author's note: Yes, Rodimus' superior is basically a genderswapped variant on Universe Silverbolt. I actually built a whole character around that, before I knew that Universe media existed. Rodimus' new form is based on the Classics Rodimus toy._


End file.
